Just An Experiment
by imsherlylocked
Summary: John and Sherlock have always been good friends, but when one night after a particularly rough case goes wrong, can they sort things out? Or will it bring forth the start of something amazing. Rated M for sexual content, slash, flirting and eventual Sherlock/John.
1. Chapter 1

Just An Experiment

John and Sherlock have always been good friends, but when one night after a particularly rough case goes wrong, can they sort things out? Or will it bring forth the start of something amazing. Rated M for sexual content, slash, flirting and eventual Sherlock/John.

**_Just a little bit of fluff and slash for you all, hope you enjoy the story, will keep it updated and please reply, it makes me smile J_**

**_I do not own Sherlock or any of its characters; it all belongs to the BBC, Mark Gatiss, Steven Moffatt, and Sir ACD._**

_Buzz. Buzz. Buzz._

John huffed and slammed his paper down on the chair rest.

"Sherlock." He got no reply from the man sitting idly at the kitchen table.

"Sherlock," he repeated. No answer. "SHERLOCK!"

"Oh, what now John," Sherlock said irritably. "Can't you see that I'm busy?"

"Can't you hear your phone? That's the fifth time it's gone off in the space of eleven minutes.

"What's your point?"

"Pick. It Up."

Sherlock sighed and help out his palm limply. John knew this was as much as he was going to get the lazy sod to do, and so wandered over and plonked the phone in his hand. Sherlock unlocked it and stared at the screen. His eyes going wide.

"What is it?" John inquired.

The corners of Sherlock's mouth rose up into an excited grin. "We have a case."

...

John eagerly followed Sherlock as he bent underneath the police tape.

"Oh look, Freak's here," Donavan mused. John shot her a deadly look, and she shut up.

"The local farmer found her. He said he doesn't know how long she's been here, but it's been longer than 12 hours. We've got forensics looking into it and-" Lestrade stopped as Sherlock waved his hand in the air.

"Your forensic team won't find anything," Sherlock's lips twitched into a small smile. "That's why you called me."

"God, you're good. Right, go ahead."

Sherlock examined the crime scene.

It was a woman, in her early thirties. She was found dead in a poppy field outside west London, the local farmer found her an hour ago, but it looks like she has been here for about 15 hours, maybe more. At first glance, one would say suicide, but Sherlock knew better. There is a bullet hole in the right side of her head, suggesting he woman is right handed, however, the gun is not in her hand, instead, is lying by her feet.

"Got anything?" interrupted Lestrade.

"Shut up, would you?" Sherlock replied sarcastically. He continued his deduction.

The gun should be in her right hand, as whenever someone shoots themselves, reflexes cause the hand to clamp down on the gun. The body positioning is wrong; the legs are splayed out, as if the body had been dropped there. If this woman had killed herself, the body would have dropped lifelessly and the legs would be straighter.

Sherlock proceeded to investigate her pockets, and he found what seemed to be a purse. The inside had been emptied, as that remained was a photo of a young girl, eleven or twelve, with her mother and father. The father has been scratched out of the picture slightly, not done by accident; it is directly over his face.

On the flipside of the photo was the words ME AND MY POPPY. It was obviously a woman's hand-writing, slightly curved at the end of every letter, and leaning very clearly to the right, backing up the previously statement of her being right handed.

On further inspection, there were some vague bruises on her arms and neck, showing that she had been dragged and partially strangled before being shot. A random murderer would not 'play about' with his victim. No, this was _revenge_.

"Ugh, boring," mumbled Sherlock.

"What is it?" John asked.

"It seems that this woman was murdered by her mentally disturbed ex-husband. After he was denied being able to see his daughter, he came after her, and dragged her to somewhere obscure, which explains the bruises on her arms." He pointed to her left arm, just above the elbow. "Once here she was partially strangled, as the bruises on her neck show, and emotionally tortured, which are proven by the mascara lines that can only be caused from crying. Conclusion, this woman was murdered her in a field of poppy's, somehow sickly related to her daughter, and the father tried to make it look like suicide." Sherlock paused for a moment before continuing. "Yet failed miserably. I hope I gave you all the information you needed, Lestrade. Text me if you have a case."

Sherlock turned on his heels onto the main road and hailed a cab, and John was quick to follow him.

"You're outstanding, you know that?" John remarked.

"Well, you have mentioned it once or twice," Sherlock let a little smirk creep across his face.

The cab journey was sat in silence, both of them looking at each other occasionally and nodding. They went round a roundabout and their knees touched briefly, but Sherlock did not pull away, and neither did John. He could feel his cheeks reddening, which was ridiculous. This was Sherlock Holmes. And he was straight.

John sat down on the sofa and heaved a sigh of relief. It had been another successful day and Sherlock was not taking out his bored on the wall anymore. Maybe tonight he would be able to sleep as well.

Sherlock slumped on the other side of the couch and had brought in a cup of tea for John.

"Um, thanks?" John was shocked. Sherlock never made tea, coffee, food, anything at all. Except for an experiment. But Sherlock wasn't running any experiments. His mind froze when Sherlock's knee touched his like it did in the cab.

"I'd like to do something John, if that's okay with you," Sherlock almost whispered.

John just gulped and nodded, worried and excited.

Sherlock then flopped on John's lap and closed his eyes, exhaling deeply. John froze, before relaxing. He didn't know where to put his hands, and so ended up placing one on Sherlock's arm, and one at the top of his head.

That's when it happened. He absent-mindedly began to stroke Sherlock's soft hair, curling it between his fingers. Sherlock didn't flinch or pull away, in fact, he rather enjoyed it.

He opened his eyes and stared at the doctor. _His _doctor. He rose up onto his elbows and his face was mere inches from Johns. John didn't move. He was transfixed by Sherlock's gaze, and didn't want to pull away. He physically couldn't.

He knew what could happen next, what might happen next, and it excited him. He was getting aroused, more than he should do, which was bad. I AM STRAIGHT! He shouted to himself inside his head. But it wasn't working.

Sherlock moved his head forward slightly and john copied him. The tension in the room was almost painful in its presence. Sherlock's hand was grabbing John's, while the other snaked up his side to the nape of his next. Sherlock pulled down slightly and smiled, tickling the back of John's neck. John gulped again, his throat unbelievably dry. He smiled back weakly.

Sherlock leaned in and John could feel his warm musky breath on his cheek.

He closed his eyes and waited.

**_Thanks sooo much for reading this. The next chapter will be up soon, please reply and tell me what you think, any criticism will be helpful! Much love xo_**


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

**_Thanks for all the response that I got, as a first time writer here it really is amazing! And thanks to Meowbowwow for her constant help! :) Enjoy..._**

Sherlock scanned John's face quickly.

"Interesting," he hummed to himself. He then shot up out of John's lap and started pacing the room.

"Wh-What's interesting?" John demanded.

"You. Your pupils have dilated, quite dramatically, since our brief event of interaction. Your pulse, elevated to an extremely high rate since our knees touched. You're licking your lips more, something I've noticed you do a lot when we are in close proximity with each other. And, of course, your cheeks are flushing an alarming shade of red, which implies that you are either embarrassed or aroused. It would seem you are both now, would it not?" Sherlock stared at him inquisitively.

"My God, are you joking. _Shit_. Are you telling me this was just an... an experiment?!" John was trying to keep himself calm, but his rage was starting to break through.

"Yes, obviously. Why, is that a problem?" Sherlock replied.

John's mouth hung open slightly in disgust and shock. "I can't believe you. You heartless bastard. You know, I thought, for one second, that you might be able to change. I couldn't have been more wrong." He turned around and stormed out, slamming the door to his bedroom behind him.

He couldn't sit still; clenching and unclenching his fists, breathing heavily through his nose, and thumping the mattress. After a while, he collapsed on his bed, small wet trails forming down his cheeks as tears flowed free. He sat and thought about what might have happened. If only.

Sherlock, for the first time in his life, was speechless. John was never this angry about his experiments, and he had only done this one to see if John had felt the same way. He didn't understand what went wrong.

Should he tell John? No, that would make John angrier. Maybe he should wait until the morning, until John had calmed down.

Sherlock sat on his chair, knees pulled against his chest, and he slowly rocked while he thought of the best way to reveal to John the truth. _Morning couldn't come soon enough_ he thought.

...

Sherlock awoke to the smell of coffee, and saw John's small frame in the kitchen, pouring two small cups.

He emerged from the kitchen and sat in his chair opposite Sherlock and passed him a cup of coffee.

"Thank you John."

"No problem." John hesitated a bit, before continuing, "We need to talk about what happened yesterday."

"Yes I completely agree," Sherlock fidgeted slightly in his seat. His mind ran over various was to say how he felt. _I find your appearance appealing and would like to embrace you. _No, that didn't explain it well enough. _I have started to develop feeling for you which I would like to try and resolve. _Nope, definitely not, that sounded almost robotic. _John, I think I maybe starting to love you. _That would have to do.

"John," Sherlock started, "I – I -"

"I'm sorry about what happened," Sherlock froze. "I didn't want it to happen, and I can promise you, it won't happen again. I - It was just a long night" John blurted out.

Sherlock sat back, stunned, and somehow... hurt by John's words. "Right, yes. Good. Okay."

John nodded and returned to his coffee, leaving Sherlock sitting in his chair, slowly being enveloped by a cloud of rejection.

...

Sherlock had retired to his room for the night, which left John sitting comfortably on the sofa.

_Why did you say that you idiot?! _John mentally scolded himself. _Now, the man that you have loved for the past 4 months thinks you despise him. _John sat up and covered his face in his hands, regret washing over him.

John knows how to explain feeling to people, but he has only done it with people that _understand _how they work, not a high-grade sociopath that can't even remember his girlfriends' names.

_You're just going to have to get over him, _the doctor thought. Except he knew he would be lying to himself. He couldn't, and wouldn't escape from how he felt.

Now Sherlock would never know.

**_Thanks for reading and sorry for the long wait, had internet issues. Next chapter up in a week; let me know what you think! Much love xo_**

**AN: If you want me to write a fan story about you, or around a story idea that you have in mind, message me! And I will do it :)**


	3. Chapter 3

**_Thank you for all the lovely reviews, this chapter will be a bit longer and might have some action, you'll have to read and find out!_**

Chapter 3

It had been 6 days since John had told Sherlock that he didn't like him 'like that'. The truth was eating him up inside, and it was becoming unbearable for him. He tried his best to hide it, but it was becoming more and more obvious every day.

But tonight, everything might change. He had a date with a lovely girl called Laura; he had bumped into her while getting coffee for Sherlock at the morgue and they had started talking.

John finished his coffee and placed the mug in the sink, next to a growing pile of used test tubes. He sighed and leaned over the edge, thinking of what to do next. He would have a shower, get changed, and then meet her at the pub. Yes, good plan Dr Watson.

He pulled out a new top and a pair of jeans with a reasonable jacket and set it down on his bed. The shower curtain was damp as he moved it across the bath; Sherlock must have showered earlier. Actually, come to think of it, where was Sherlock? He shook his head. Now was not the time to think, and his mind was cleared as a hot stream of water travelled down his back.

He massaged his arms and shoulders and legs, working the gel into every pore he could fine, trying to rinse himself of the bad memories that continued to haunt him. He gathered some shampoo in his hand and lathered it into his sandy hair, washing it out moments later. He shut the shower off and grabbed a towel, wrapping it around his waist.

Back in his bedroom, he quickly dried the rest of his body and shoved a new pair of underwear on, pulling his jeans over the top. He grabbed his shirt and tugged it over his shoulders, careful not to stretch the material out of shape.

He patted it down carefully, smoothing out any creases made. The material was snug on his figure, hugging him softly. He went to grab his jacket, but it wasn't on the bed. He checked on the other side of the bed, in case it had fallen down, but it hadn't. It wasn't under the bed either. Nor was under the duvet. _Where the bloody hell could that have gone? _he asked himself.

He walked slowly back into the front room, checking every inch of floor space as if some miracle had occurred and his jacket had sprung itself from the position on his bed and into the corridor.

"Sherlock, have you seen my-" John stopped in his tracks.

Sherlock was sitting, cross-legged on his chair, violin bow in hand, wearing John's jacket.

"Yes John?" Sherlock asked.

"That's my jacket."

"You do astound me with your deductions sometimes," Sherlock replied sarcastically.

"That's my BLOODY jacket!"

Sherlock rolled his eyes, clearly irritated by John's repetition.

"Give it back now, please," John ordered.

"What for?"

"Because I'm going out in 40 minutes, and I need to wear that jacket."

"Honestly John, find another jacket. Or better still, just don't go out."

John was glued to his spot, stuck somewhere between screaming at Sherlock and walking right up to him and ripping the jacket from his shoulders.

"Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to my room. I have some, um," he coughed awkwardly, "business to take care of."

"No, no, hang on a second," John stood up and marched towards Sherlock. "Give me my jacket."

"No."

"Fine, then I'll take it from you." John lunged toward Sherlock, grabbing his shoulders and yanking him backwards.

Sherlock yelped and tried to smack John's hands away, but it was to no avail. Johns grip tightened as he tried to pull the material away from his body. Sherlock wiggled and writhed under his grip, until John gave up.

"Sherlock..." John said slowly.

"What now, John?" Sherlock replied breathlessly.

"Are you - are you ticklish?" John asked, failing to hide his smirk.

"I, um, I might be," Sherlock stammered.

John went to grab at his sides again, determined to torture the consulting detective until he gave up his jacket, but Sherlock was too quick. He dived down the hallway and into his room, slamming the door shut and falling back against it.

"If you want your jacket back," the baritone voice said, "you're going to have to come and get it."

"Sherlock, stop being such a dick! I have a date that I don't want to be late for, just give me my jacket now!"

No reply. John rolled his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Fine," he said to himself. "He asked for it."

He slammed himself into the wood of the door, and felt Sherlock spring from where he was sitting. John pushed harder until the door opened, where he snuck in and confronted the man.

"Give it to me. Now." John's voice echoed in Sherlock's ears, making him shiver.

"I don't want to." Sherlock's childish side was trying to shine through.

"Fine, we'll do this the hard way," John grabbed Sherlock by the shoulders and pushed him onto the bed so that he was lying on his stomach. He placed his knees over Sherlock's calves and carefully removed one shoe.

"Oh God, no John, please no!"

John didn't stop. Instead, he pulled she black sock from Sherlock's foot, and cradled the front of it.

"Last chance to give me back my jacket," John raised his hand, poised and ready to attack the sole of his foot.

"No!" screamed Sherlock.

"You asked for it!"

John's fingers brushed every inch of skin lightly, teasing it softly. Sherlock moaned and writhed and laughed and wriggled. This had never happened to him before, and he wasn't sure if he liked it.

John didn't give up, stroking his toes and pinching the ball of his foot, he continued to torture the tall man below him until Sherlock jerked his legs.

John flew off him and landed in the space next to him, a little dazed. Sherlock wasted no time on regained the upper hand, straddling John, gripping his wrists and throwing them above my head.

"Enough," the detective whispered darkly.

John gulped and nodding, not interested in his jacket anymore, but instead of the amazingly shaped lips that Sherlock had.

_Are they soft? I bet they're soft. And moist, but not too moist. Just perfect. I bet they're smooth too, like his fingers, oh God his fingers. Why do I want to taste him so badly? I am straight! Really John, you're fantasising about you're flatmate, and you are __**still **__trying to convince yourself that you're straight. Well, I am. Ha, not anymore..._

John stared into Sherlock's eyes, consumed by the pools of mystery and lust in them. He couldn't look away, and didn't want to either.

Sherlock couldn't believe the position he was in. He could have John Watson right now, on his bed, if he so wished. But he couldn't do that, could he?

_Just kiss him already! The tension here is unbearable. No, I can't kiss him, he'll be mad. Yes, but he might like it as well. What have you got to lose? Except your friendship, the laughs, the companionship, and more than likely the man you love. Oh, sod it all!_

Sherlock titled his head to the side, lowering it slowly and closing his eyes. John closed the gap between them, lifting his head up from the pillow slightly.

Their lips met John tried hard to suppress a moan. Sherlock was the first one to move, slowly moving his lips against John, coaxing him to follow suit. John complied and their mouths moved in unison, savouring each other.

John's tongue snaked out of his mouth and gently touched Sherlock's upper lip, enticing a moan from him. Sherlock's tongue darted out and met with John's, and the two muscles danced together, tasting, touching, feeling.

John ground his hips into Sherlock, causing the man to gasp and pull away from the kiss. He trailed kisses down John's jaw line, making the doctor arch his head into the pillow. Sherlock attached his mouth to the area of exposed skin and tickled it with his tongue, teasing his lightly.

He pulled away from John and observed him. Flushed face. Swollen lips. Pupils blown. Bulge in erogenous zone. He smirked to himself.

"So, Dr Watson," he leant over John's face, still holding his hands above his head.

"Do you still want your jacket?"

**_I'm so sorry that this took so long to do, I've been working on a biology project, but I am aiming for one chapter a week at least. Let me know what you think, constructive criticism is always welcome! Thank you you beautiful people, much love xo_**

**AN: I have two ways this could go- John and Sherlock get busy and I will write my first ever smutty scene which I am dying to do!**

**Or I could have John leave, go on his date, realise he's made a mistake and come home to Sherlock, which might end in a smutty scene, you'll have to find out!**

**Let me know which one you want xo**


	4. Chapter 4

**_Okay so quite a few of you commented saying you wanted the smutty scene (of course you would) so that's what I've written... OR HAVE I! Ahaha, okay, well thanks for continuing to read this, it means a lot, and if you don't like graphic scenes, read something else; rated M for a reason guys._**

**_I AM SO SORRY FOR THE HUGE DELAY but my nan has passed away, she had a heart attack, and, basically, i've never lost a member of my family, so i found it hard to cope for a bit._**

Chapter 4

"Do you still want your jacket?"

Sherlock's voice rang in John's ears like white noise; blurring his vision and making him go dizzy ever so slightly.

John blinked once. Twice. Three times; never looking away from Sherlock.

He never realised how hard it is to form a coherent sentence when someone is staring right at you. His mouth opened and closed, remarkably like a goldfish, before he choked out a reply.

"Yes."

Sherlock's face was blank. He just looked at John, not moving, hardly breathing, face pale and hands tensing at either side of John's head.

"Fine," Sherlock said as he rolled off of John and landed on the floor. His nimble fingers made quick work of the buttons at the bottom of the jacket, and he flung it in John's general direction. "Here, have it."

"Thank you," John managed.

Sherlock huffed and exited the room, not looking at John once. John grabbed the jacket that was draped over the edge of the bed and slowly slipped the material over his arms. As he fitted it over his shoulders, a waft of air made his nostrils widen. His jacket smelt of Sherlock.

The doctor brought up the cuff of the jacket to his nose and inhaled deeply, the sweet and slightly musky smell filling every gap in his senses.

John was quickly knocked out of his daydream when he noticed the time; he only had 14 minutes to get the pub.

"Shit."

He raced out of Sherlock's bedroom and grabbed his wallet from the kitchen table. "Sherlock, I won't be long, only a couple of hours, okay?"

He got no reply from the figure standing in the frame of the window, violin under his chin, but not playing a single note.

"Fine," John gritted his teeth and jumped down the stairs, lunging violently or the door when he reached it.

The cold air whipped his unprotected face, causing him to shiver uncontrollably. He made his way through the street to the pub, with its lights glowing artificially in the night sky.

Walking through the door in a haze, he staggered to the bar and ordered a pint. A girl appeared behind him and tapped his shoulder.

"Hey, John!" she said when he turned to face her.

"Oh, hey Laura", he tried to sound as enthusiastic as he could. "Would you like a drink?"

"No, I'm good thanks, got mine right here," she held up a glass of red wine that was balancing delicately in her hand."You're a tad late, mister."

"Yeah, um, sorry about that, I, er", John cleared his throat, "lost my wallet."

"Oh, you are silly," Laura nudged his arm playfully. "C'mon, let's go sit somewhere," she followed up her statement with a flirtatious wink.

John tried to smile back but he knew himself that it wasn't convincing. He followed her in the dimly lit pub until they reached two chairs placed next to each other by a fire.

His mind suddenly whisked him back to Dartmoor, where he sat with Sherlock in a similar pub by a fire, where he declared that he had no 'friends'. He was lying.

John shook his head and rubbed the side of his face. When he looked up he saw Laura beaconing him to join her.

He sat down with a thump next to her and sighed, feeling the warmth from the fire eradicate the stress from his body.

"Are you okay, John?" Laura asked. "You just don't seem, yourself."

"Me, hmm? I'm fine, I'm absolutely fine," he gave her a reassuring grin.

"Good. Now, doctor, what do you want to talk about?" She leant forward and placed her free hand on his knee.

"Oh, um, anything. Talk about anything. I'm easy, haha. Completely easy," John felt a weird sensation rising in his stomach.

Something about Laura touching him didn't feel good. It didn't feel right. He just sat there and stared at her hand, willing it to move away. But it didn't. Instead, it travelled towards him, and when he looked up, Laura's face was inches from his.

"Well, maybe we shouldn't talk."

Her lips on his didn't feel right. They weren't soft, _like Sherlock's_. They weren't moist, _like Sherlock's. _They just felt abnormal on his, they didn't fit there.

She tried to coax him into a little more action by opening her mouth and sweeping her tongue across his bottom lip.

He could taste the alcohol on her breath; she had had more than one drink before he'd even got there.

Her hands started to snake around his neck, and he knew he had to stop it. His hands found there way to her shoulders and he gently pushed them back until their lips parted.

"What's wrong, doctor?" Laura wiped her sleeve across her mouth. "Do you not like a girl who likes to have some fun."

John wasn't listening. John was thinking. _About Sherlock_. He needed to go home, he needed to apologise. He needed _him_.

"Look, Laura, you're a lovely girl, but I don't think this is right for me. I'm going to go, but I'll see you around?" he knew it was a promise he wouldn't keep.

"Yeah, sure whatever," Laura slunk into her chair and sipped her wine. "You're boring anyway."

John left her cackling away to herself in the pub while he thought about what to do. His mind wouldn't form a coherent plan for him, all that cropped up in his jumbled mind was images of Sherlock hovering over him.

Before long, he was outside 221B. He searched for his keys, but they weren't in his pocket. Or his coat. Or his jeans.

_Oh, bugger_ he thought. _Now I'm going to have to get the smarmy git to open the door for me and greet me with some sarcastic comment._ But he had no other choice. He couldn't stay outside in the cold all night. He just had to do it.

He knocked 3 times on the old wood frame until he heard clambering footsteps. John had a response planned when Mrs Hudson opened the door.

"Oh, hello love," she smiled. "Get in here, dear, or you'll catch your death".

John stepped thankfully into the hallway. "Thank you, Mrs Hudson. Um, have you seen Sherlock tonight?"

"Oh, no dear, he hasn't come out of the flat since you left, but you know what he's like. Sulks for days if he doesn't get what he wants." And with that, Mrs Hudson tottered back off to her own flat.

_He sulks for days if he doesn't get what he wants. _The words swam around in John's head and made him dizzy.

He raced up the stairs and made his way through the door.

"Sherlock?" he called. "Sherlock, I'm home."

"Ah, John, how nice of you to finally return," John focused on the sound coming from near the window. "I'm surprised it took you this long to work out that this latest girl was only using you to get back at her ex boyfriend, but I'm sure-"

John spun Sherlock around to face him, grabbed a fistful of his shirt, and pulled their faces together until their lips met, and they kissed.

**_AHAHA I'm so evil for not writing the sexy scene yet but I like making you wait! Please let me know what you thought, and I should be updating asap. Thanks you guys, it really means a lot to me._**

**_-Sherly xo_**


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

**_OH MY GOD LOOK IT'S THIS CHAPTER NOW YAY FANGIRLING EVEN THOUGH I KNOW WHAT'S GOING TO HAPPEN._**

**_ENJOY MY LOVELY SHERLOCKIANS. WOOOOO._**

He's just left. –Laura

_I thought so, did he say anything? -UNKNOWN_

He just said that 'it didn't feel right'. What a load of bullshit. -Laura

_Fascinating. Did you kiss him? -UNKNOWN_

Unfortunately, yes. It was weird though, he didn't have the right smell about him. -Laura

_Oh ho ho, this is getting good. Veeery good. Thank you for your help, Laura. Much appreciated. –UNKNOWN_

Yeah yeah, whatever. What do I get in return? -Laura

_Don't push me, you might regret it. -UNKNOWN_

Don't threaten me, you little prick. I want some money. -Laura

_Very well. -UNKNOWN_

It seemed everyone in the pub was too drunk to notice the red dot that carefully lowered itself onto the young woman's forehead.

...

Neither John nor Sherlock moved while their lips were together, they waited. They waited to see if this was really going to be it, if this was going to happen.

John made the first move, pulling his face back ever so slightly and tilting his head for a better angle. Sherlock leant forward and captured John's lips again, moving his lips slowly and softly, hoping John would do the same.

John opened his mouth wider and let his tongue wriggle free and gently swipe Sherlock's bottom lip. The detective let out a small noise, like a muffled moan, and separated his swollen lips, granting John access.

Once again, the two familiar muscles met and fought, each wanting dominance and power, but not receiving it.

Sherlock's hands moved from his waist to cup either side of John's cheeks, lifting John higher off the ground. John gripped the lapels of Sherlock's dressing gown tighter and pulled him in closer, snug against John's heaving chest.

Slowly, Sherlock slid John's jacket off his shoulders, letting it drop to the floor in a messy pile. John repeated the action, but with Sherlock' blue gown, leaving him only in his grey pyjama top and bottoms.

As Sherlock moved his hands down further and tried to lift up John's top over his head, the doctor stepped backwards, and his back collided with the wall. Sherlock walked absent-mindedly into him, causing their bodies to be flush against each other. John felt something hard prodding and poking the area of flesh between his hip and the top of his leg.

Sherlock tried again to remove the top, but John stopped him.

"N-no, wait," John choked out. Fear washed over Sherlock's face at the thought of going too far. John looked into Sherlock's dilated pupils, and was glad the wall was there to keep him on his feet. "Not here."

Without hindrance, Sherlock grabbed John by his hand and pulled him through the kitchen, past the bathroom and into his own room. John looked around and saw the covers on the bed; all crumpled from the evenings previous activities. He winced at the thought.

The doctor felt the presence of someone behind him, and went to turn around, but was stopped. A pair of hands travelled over his shoulders, down the sides of his body, until they found the hem of the shirt.

It took a few tugs and a muffled giggle before the top joined Sherlock's shoes on the wooden floor. John was still refused permission to turn around. Sherlock kissed the back of John's neck; savouring the taste, the sight and the smell. He worked his way over the broad shoulders, never missing a patch of skin. John couldn't fight the urges anymore.

He spun round and caught the bottom on Sherlock's pyjama top, lifting up over his head and flinging it to the side with ease. He smiled up at the detective above him, and leaned forward to kiss down his sternum.

Sherlock sighed in content, letting his eyes close and his head drop back, exposing the flesh underneath his face. John stood up and licked a line up from his Adam's apple to the point on his chin.

Sherlock grinned down at John, and the doctor smirked back. John had ignored it for the time being, but now his groin was staring to become painful. He could feel his cock straining against the fabric of both his underwear and his coarse jeans.

His hands slunk to his belt and worked it off easily, relieving some of the tension building up. He let the jeans slide off his legs, allowing them to pool on the floor before stepping out of them. Sherlock walked him backwards until his legs met the edge of the bed. John fell backwards, and Sherlock landed perfectly on top.

"John, you are," Sherlock gulped, "okay with this, right?"

"Oh _God_ yes."

John lifted his head up and met Sherlock's soft lips with his own again in a hungry and demanding kiss. Sherlock was flipped over and John straddled his thighs, working the trousers down agonizingly slow. He tugged the soft material over Sherlock's ankles, and thrust forward slightly, allowed the stiff members to rub together through a thin layer of cloth. Sherlock moaned deeply in the back of his throat and opened his eyes, pleading to John silently.

John bent down and kissed the detective again, and, before his mind could talk him out of it, reached down Sherlock's underwear and took a hold of his cock.

It was a new and odd sensation to John, having another man's length in his hand without it being his own. Sherlock had lots of different features to John, all of which he noticed almost instantly. Sherlock was heavier and longer than John, but not thicker. His foreskin slid easily over the head, and the vein on the underside of the penis was thicker.

John started to bring the foreskin over the head and back down, repeating the motion, increasing pressure and speeds at different times; using techniques that work on him. Sherlock turned into a moaning wreck underneath him, occasionally opening his eyes and staring at the ceiling, or squeezing his eyes shut and whispering "_John..._" over and over again.

John shifted slightly and bent his head down, only inches away from Sherlock's now throbbing member. John experimented, flicking his tongue out and brushing it against the head, then against the glands, then sweeping his tongue up the shaft.

"Ahh, oh God, oh God, John!"

John's mouthed enveloped Sherlock, and the detective's cock was overcome with heat, moisture and suction. John bobbed his head slowly; hollowing his cheeks every now and then to Sherlock's delight. He took Sherlock in as far as he would go, until the head touched the back of his throat and he suppressed a gag. He pulled back and gave the shaft a few strokes before placing Sherlock back into his mouth and sucking harder.

"John, I'm going to- I'm going to- ahh!"

John licked around the head and the glands, before, pulling back completely and using his hand, changing direction, speed and pressure. With a deep moan and a long exhale of air, Sherlock came over John's hand and his chest. John Continued to stroke Sherlock until his orgasm had completely washed over him.

John let go of Sherlock, and reached for his own length, rubbing it through his underwear. When Sherlock's breathing and eyesight had returned to normal, he looked over to John to see him panting heavily; his cheeks flushing.

Sherlock pulled John's member out of his cotton boxers and gave it a few quick strokes, watching as John's head fell against the headboard in ecstasy. Sherlock lowered his head and took John in his mouth, earning a moan from the back of his throat from the doctor.

It didn't take long before John was left in a writhing state, breathing becoming erratic and almost thrusting into Sherlock's mouth.

"Sher-Sherlock, I'm t-too c-close."

The detective lifted his head and tugged on John's cock a few times, after which John thrust into Sherlock's hand, cried out Sherlock's name and spilled his seed on his stomach. Sherlock smiled to himself, secretly pleased with the results, before reaching into the drawer in the table next to him and pulling out a tissue, cleaning up their mess.

John pulled up the cream sheet over them, and let his head rest on Sherlock's chest, allowing the sound of Sherlock's heart to bring him back to reality.

...

John's head was still resting on Sherlock's chest when he heard Sherlock's phone vibrate on the table next to them. He groaned into Sherlock's body when the detective leant over to pick it up.

The screen illuminated the room quickly and made John squint his eyes momentarily. Sherlock's eyes scanned the message he had received before placing the phone back down, sitting up and turned on the lamp.

"Sherlock," John started, sitting against the headboard with him, "what's wrong?"

"John," Sherlock didn't look at him. "Which pub did you go to?"

**_So, my first ever sexy times scene, what did you think? Yes, I know, they didn't go the whole way, but I can't give EVERYTHING to you straight away!_**

**_THANKS SO MUCH FOR READING THIS! Yeah, it really does mean a lot. Special thanks to Meowbowwow again, she seems to stalk my stories, but she is amazing and I recommend you check her out. Update it as soon as a can, besides, I'm sure you're all dyyyying to know who 'UNKNOWN' is!_**

**_-Sherly xo_**


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